


Heat

by KatieHavok



Series: The Journey Itself Is Home [6]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Africa, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boats and Ships, Dancing, F/M, Fertility Issues, Fire Dancing, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Magical Tribes, Mating Rituals, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Polyamorous Character, Post-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Pretentious, Rituals, Smut, Trains, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 09:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10761201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieHavok/pseuds/KatieHavok
Summary: Newt’s a few hundred feet ahead of her, and even from this distance she can see that the harsh desert sun is already reddening his cheeks and nose. He, too, has shed layers, until he wears only his beige field breeches and simple cotton shirtsleeves, rolled to the elbow. Tina envies him his ability to strip, stuck with her itchy girdle and stockings and sticky-damp step-ins—even if her skirt is light satin and her blouse an even lighter linen. The heat ispunishing.





	Heat

*

**_Late September, 1931_ **

Tina Scamander is tired of traveling.

The steamship jaunt to England had been bad. For the first time in her life, she was stricken with an enduring bout of seasickness—a situation made worse by her dear husband’s own profound history with the ailment. The first three days of the voyage saw them barely leaving their tiny cabin, opting instead to hunch miserably over basins and pray to Merlin or Paracelsus or perhaps even the No-Maj God Himself for some relief.

Tina felt somewhat better by the fourth day, and was able to move around shakily and retain nourishment. The fifth day was better still, and saw Newt creeping about, pale and drawn but _upright_. Their good health lasted until they landed in Liverpool—only to spend the week in miserable, unrepentant drizzle, a situation which did nothing to improve the gloomy mood.

Then it was back onto a boat, for four weeks this time. They skirted the spiny shores of England, made haste past France and the greater bulk of Europe, and spent weeks tossed about open water to travel from one hemisphere to the other, from one _season_ to the other, until they finally landed in Cape Town, South Africa and could begin the next stage of their journey.

Which consisted of a bumpy wagon ride, drawn by some species of horse-looking beast with large ears and wicked teeth.

Tina patiently holds her tongue until they are camped for the evening, beneath a clear but chilly sky spread with stars. Then her discomfort gives way to wonder, and she falls asleep with Newt’s arm around her, his voice low in her ear as he points to and names unfamiliar constellations.

Another full day on the wagon brings them to an ancient-looking, creaking steam engine, one she boards with serious reservation to race across the desert landscape. There they _finally_ met with the Nambe tribe, on their hidden magical platform which, of course, can only be found _in the middle of nowhere_.

They are greeted by a large, dark throng of colorfully-dressed people, all of them breathtakingly beautiful with their willowy limbs, smooth ebony skin, and soulful eyes. Tina is instantly enamored of the children, many of whom seemed to caper about without the hindrance of clothing. The women stand in clusters of three and four, often gathered around a male who seems to be nominally in charge of his flock, and talking quietly amongst themselves.

Newt, being Newt, immediately seeks out the female leader of the tribe to pay respects to her in the halting, clicking _Se_ tongue of their people. She barks something back, and Tina whirls in alarm. Her husband, nonplussed, responds gently and sketches out an odd little half-bow, not unlike greeting a Hippogriff. The queen watches him regally for a beat or two—before throwing her head back and _roaring_  laughter while clasping his forearm in their traditional greeting.

Tina and Newt breathe identical sighs of relief and allow themselves to be swept away on their respective tide of humanity.

*

The group of women Tina falls into are all stunningly beautiful, and apparently have no compunction about putting their wares on display. She has trouble, at first, ignoring their exposed breasts and stomachs as they walk across the desert plain to their ancestral land. By the time noon gives way to evening, however, Tina’s discovers that looking at them and seeing simply _them_ is second-nature. It doesn’t hurt when some of the more curious women touch her arm—after she’s shed her cotton outer shirt—and marvel at her skin tone.

Newt’s a few hundred feet ahead of her, and even from this distance, she can see that the harsh desert sun is already reddening his cheeks and nose. He, too, has shed layers, until he wears only his beige field breeches and simple cotton shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow. Tina envies him his ability to strip, stuck with her itchy girdle and stockings and sticky-damp step-ins—even if her skirt is light satin and her blouse an even lighter linen. The heat is _punishing_.

She sighs in relief when the sun sinks behind the Baobab trees, only to quickly pull on every shed layer as the heat of the day is quickly sapped away. One of the ladies she travels with clucks and places a heavy, hand-woven blanket over her shoulder before slotting into Tina’s side to share its warmth. She smiles in thanks and the woman ducks her head in a manner that reminds Tina warmly of Newt. Temporarily bolstered, she trudges through the dark without even the succor of staring at the stars—the ground here is humped and uneven, and one wrong step could spell a twisted ankle, or worse.

All hint of daylight has been bled away by the time they reach the tribal seat, and the queen commands her people back to their respective homes in a series of regal gestures. She personally escorts Tina and Newt to a largish structure made of mud and sticks, with a thatched roof and a side-wall constructed entirely of animal hides. She deposits them there, and Tina watches the dark woman and Newt converse in clicks and gestures until he inclines his head and clasps his clenched fist over his heart.

The queen taps her breast before turning to Tina and brushing her lips against her forehead. Surprised, Tina feels her eyebrows creep into her hairline, but the other woman is already slipping away, flanked by her consorts and not looking back. Tina stares until Newt clears his throat gently. She turns to him with mouth agape.

“What—?” she begins, thoroughly flummoxed, and is unable to express the concept save for a series of helpless hand gestures. Newt smiles amusedly before coming over to hug her, his body a line of masculine warmth against the chill of the night. Tina remembers how cold she is then, and leans into it, purring happily when his arms go around her.

“That was a blessing—er, I think. My _Se_ has slipped since last I was here, and my shoddy translations spells make things even more confusing. But I believe it was a blessing from Queen Nahbe to you. It was intended as a gift. I’m...sorry if it made you uncomfortable. I probably should have warned you.”

Tina shakes her head with her face pressed into his chest, inhaling the scent of desert-dust and sweat that clings to him. “It didn’t make me uncomfortable,” she explains in a whisper. “It just...caught me off-guard. You know I’m used to polite society, but that means something different here. These people...they touch without thinking about it. One of the women shared her blanket with me on the walk here, and she stuck to my side much like you do when we sleep. It was...different.”

Newt cups her chin and lifts it, his eyes twinkling down at hers. “I did tell you that these were incredibly _friendly_ people, did I not? Their cultural polyamory adds entirely new dimensions to human interactions, and relationships between people of the same sex are not frowned upon here. She was perhaps rather _sweet_ on you, my love.”

He grins suggestively, only to dodge nimbly away when she playfully swats at him before stealing a kiss and stepping back.

“I need to check on my creatures,” he intones apologetically. He glances at the sky while strolling over to the straw mat that’s obviously intended to be their bed. “I imagine you’re quite tired. If you’d like, I can wait to see you into bed before going into my case. It’s sure to be a while, I must tend to Ethel. She’ll sense that she’s home and will likely be rather distraught about it.”

Tina nods and quickly strips down to her step-in undergarments, bravely choosing to wear them in place of sleeping clothes. _When in Rome_ , she thinks, and Newt’s eyes gleam in the low light while she reclines on the surprisingly comfortable straw mat and arranges the rough pillow beneath her head. Her husband kneels to kiss her soundly before tucking the blankets around her shoulders, and his beloved voice follows her into dreams when he wishes her goodnight.

The last thing she sees before sleep claims her is his head disappearing into the case.

*

The morning dawns pearly gray but hot, and Tina sits up to stretch before rousing her husband through a series of damp kisses pressed to his jaw and throat. He hums sleepily before turning and claiming her mouth in a lazy kiss. They eventually part and his eyes shine up at her in shades of green-gold when he crooks his head and cups her cheek.

“It’s early yet,” he whispers with a gently teasing smile. “I’d very much like to make love to you, if you’ll allow it.” Tina looks around quickly, seeing no breakfast fires in the morning light, and it’s an easy enough decision to close the furs for privacy and crawl into her husband’s lap. Easier still, after he’s kissed and nipped and teased her until she tingles all over, to unbutton her step-ins and tug down his sleeping trousers to mount him with a sigh.

They enjoy an unhurried session of lovemaking while the camp begins to stir around them. By the time Tina gasps and arches into her release, the scent of woodsmoke reaches their nose. Newt’s breathing turns rough at the end, until he sighs and convulsively tugs her close to choke her name into her hair. Afterwards, there’s time to drowse for a few minutes before they rise to clean up and pull on their clothes.

Newt parts from her with a kiss, moving purposefully to the large building housing the queen and her entourage. Tina watches him go before tidying their small dwelling and heading bravely into the center of the camp, where a communal meal is set up. The lovely woman from last night, the one who’d shared her blanket, snags Tina and guides her to the line, chattering in her bird-like tongue while Tina nods and smiles and pretends to understand. They eat a simple fried corn gruel and then the woman, whose name she _still_ doesn’t know, presses her into service with the young children.

Tina, feeling rather at a loose end, is more than willing to oblige.

*

The Scamander's rendezvous in their hut that evening, where Tina clucks with worry before rubbing burn salve into her husband’s skin. “We have something to prevent this, you know,” she scolds gently as his skin heals itself, and he ducks his head to smile in self-reproach.

“I know, love.” Newt keeps his voice pitched low. “And you know how absent-minded I can be out in the field. I simply forget.”

“I do know,” Tina reminds him while fondly ruffling his hair and kissing his lips.

He returns the embrace with absent affection before wandering over to his notes and sitting down to determine the best place to find their quarry. “Where _might_ you be,” he mumbles, and then looks up at her and blinks owlishly.

“This trip was really just an excuse to mate Ethel,” Newt confesses with a small smile. “Whether or not we find an amphisbaena is secondary to that mission. So, other than tracking a suitable male specimen, much of our time should be spent here among the tribe, where I hope to learn a few of their ancestral medicines. We’ll be here for their magical assistance with ushering in the rainy season, which so happens to coincide with their fertility rites.”

He sets aside a sheaf of paper and suddenly the entire weight of his focus is on Tina. She gulps, as she often does in the rare instances when this happens, and strives to give him her full attention. “We’ve been invited to attend as honored guests,” he says slowly. “There’s to be music and a dance that calls upon ancient earth magic to renders participants especially fertile. The birth rates for this tribe seem to bear that out, from what I’ve seen. Would you—that is, if you are comfortable, I think perhaps we should join.”

Tina swallows and thinks back to the pain endured in May, and every empty month that’s passed since then. It affects him too, she knows, for he’s had to endure the ups and downs and cautious hope same as she. She swallows the old, familiar ache and moves to stand next to him, her hands settling on his shoulders. He turns to embrace her properly, pressing his face against her belly with a sigh.

“I think I’d be okay with that,” she says slowly. “Will we both be dancing?”

“Yes,” he answers promptly. “There’s a dance for the women and one for the men. There are certain rituals to be observed beforehand, and then the women who are past childbearing age take the children for the night while the rest of us eat and dance and, well...” She can feel his blush even through her layers, and she smiles down at his head when he makes a vague hand gesture.

“So, basically an _orgy_ , is what you’re saying,” she teases, and he swallows loudly.

“Essentially,” he says in a tiny voice. “You’d also have to, ah—well, would you be comfortable in fewer layers? There are garments we _should_ wear, and certain ritual behaviors to observe if we’re to commit ourselves to this fully. But only if you’re comfortable, Tina!”

She laughs, a delighted, free sound, and he relaxes. “For you, Newt? Anything, of course.”

“Oh. That’s good,” he murmurs, standing in one fluid motion to kiss her. He dips his head to meet her eyes before smiling, slow and mischievous, causing heat to spark deep in her belly. His gaze sweeps her body while his fingers pluck at her light cotton top. “Now, Mrs. Scamander, perhaps we should...practice for those fertility rituals.”

Tina grins and leans in to claim his mouth until they’re both breathless and rumpled. “Maybe we should,” she whispers coyly against his lips, and leads him deeper into the hut.

*

Dawn is just streaking the horizon when they strike out the next morning. It’s only a few miles to a promising plane but they’ve no frame of reference for Disapparition so they walk, using a crude map and landmarks as guides until Newt declares they’ve found the place. He boosts her into a tree before disillusioning them and masking their scent. They wait throughout dawn and past, until the sun is high and bright in the sky and Tina is stiff and sore with the lack of movement.

Motion catches Newt’s eye and his hand clamps around her arm without warning. She can’t see him but she can _sense_ his excitement when a male Erumpent trundles into the clearing and announces his presence through an ear-shattering series of trumpeting calls, before snatching at the long grass. Newt squeezes her wrist and she hears his joyful laughter before he pulls her into Disapparition, landing them in their small hut.

In the end, it’s quicker and easier than they could have ever hoped or expected. Newt coaxes Ethel out of the case and she senses the male right away, setting off across the plane at a run while Newt and Tina follow from a prudent distance. They catch up just as the male is executing the first steps of his mating dance. Newt watches with wide-eyed enthusiasm and an almost unholy level of glee when he is successful, and the much larger female Erumpent allows him to mount her.

Tina and Newt politely turn away as the beasts mate, emitting grunts and whistles while in rut. Newt takes notes on what he can see, hear and smell, while Tina wonders curiously how long gestation for a female Erumpent lasts, and whether they are subject to the same whiles of morning sickness and fatigue as human women.

Then it’s over, and Ethel placidly follows them back to camp while the male once more strikes off on his own.

*

The woman’s name is Akachi, and much like the previous mornings, she commands Tina’s attention and ropes her into helping with the children. Unlike the previous days, they make some attempt at names and other introductions before falling into an easy almost-friendship that has Tina smiling broadly for most of the day.

Newt comes to visit for the noon meal, a simple dish of bushmeat wrapped in arcane—but incredibly delicious—leaves. He kisses her carefully before striking off into the desert in search of an amphisbaena, and Akachi watches him with a peculiar expression before turning to her. She narrows her eyes to search Tina from head to toe. Then Akachi inclines her head for her to follow and leads Tina into the shadow of a tree, away from prying eyes.

She settles them on a blanket before one slim finger touches Tina’s ring finger, ebony on ivory. Akachi tilts her head and arches an eyebrow before nodding toward Newt’s departing figure and twining her fingers together. _Married, yes?_

Tina nods and holds up both hands, fingers spread, before curling them into a fist and holding up a single index finger. _Yes, for 11 months._

Akachi looks at her critically before placing a hand on the flat plane of her stomach. She curls her arms around her own belly in a suggestive manner before squeezing her left breast. An arched eyebrow smooths into a placid expression. _No children?_

Tina sags into herself at the unintended but painful reminder, and tries to formulate an adequate response. Akachi seems to understand instinctively, for she points to her own stomach before holding up two fingers. She points to another woman and holds up one. A third woman warrants two fingers again before she points to the sole woman in the tribe with no children at all—and a full five fingers are raised in the air. Her hand falls into her lap as she watches Tina carefully.

Tina absorbs this before shrugging uncomfortably and frowning at the dirt. She watches the childless woman from a distance and tries very hard not to superimpose her life over hers—wondering how it would be if she and Newt were truly unable to produce children. How it would isolate her not just in her own marriage, but in society as a whole. The possibility is grim and doesn’t bear considering. Tina catches Akachi’s eye before turning away sharply. _This discussion is over._

Akachi sighs but doesn’t argue, instead trailing after Tina as she tends to a squalling infant and tries very hard not to _think_ for the remainder of the day.

*

Newt finds spore that afternoon, and Tina spends the next day trekking the desert with him until they find an amphisbaena coiled around a hot rock. Newt croons at it while keeping a prudent distance, and sketches a quick series of images before taking note of its size and structure. He marvels at the way the scales ride along its spineless back, the subtle striated variations of its tone, before beating a hasty retreat.

He spends that evening immersed in notes, finally coming up for air at supper time to sort and put things where they belong. “A successful trip, all told,” he declares while locking his field chest, and Tina smiles and drops a kiss on his crown before returning to her mending.

Newt reaches out to capture her fingers, and Tina lifts her head to meet his eyes. He blinks down at her before squatting to her level.

“We’ll be at sea for our first wedding anniversary,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “Tell me, love—have you any wish for a gift or a to-do for that day? It is a rather remarkable occasion, or so I’m told.”

Tina gives the inquiry serious thought, unwilling and unable to reveal that she had forgotten all about the occasion. “Not really,” she finally decides, and Newt’s face remains carefully neutral. “We’ll be on a boat so there isn’t much we _can_ do, is there? Maybe a nice meal and a walk on the promenade deck...”

“Same as usual, then,” he says dryly, but he kisses her to take the sting out of his words. He glances to the skyline, where dark is rapidly drawing down and hugs her with one arm. “Come. Busy day tomorrow, and the promise of a long night for the ritual. Let’s get some rest.”

Tina arches an eyebrow as he leads her to the sleeping mat. “Rest?” she asks coyly and grins as he tugs off his shirt.

“Well...in a manner of speaking,” he admits and laughs as she pulls him beneath the blankets.

*

The first day of October dawns clear and bright, and brutally hot. Tina dresses while Newt shaves fussily, always by hand and always with a straight-razor, before walking with her to breakfast. There’s an electric energy in the camp, and it seeps into them as they eat simple corn cakes fried in animal fat, before helping to round up the children and send them off for a day spent with the elders.

Newt’s eyes twinkle at her when they part, kissing her soundly before he joins the men in preparation. Akachi sweeps Tina away with the women, where they travel miles north to collect colored clay in a vast river delta, before setting their burdens aside for ritual bathing. Tina strips down to only her step-ins—the other women have no problems with full nudity, and she envies them their freedom—before entering the water. Akachi hands her soap leaves and Tina washes thoroughly before draping herself over a rock to dry.

From her perch, she watches curiously as many of the women engage in play, splashing each other and even tossing stiff reeds around in sport. Tina notes these activities to share with Newt later, perhaps on the long trip back to England, and the unforgiving African sun has dried her thoroughly by the time they all troop happily back to camp.

They share a simple meal before everyone scatters for a nap. Upon rising, the camp is cleaned through group effort before everyone pairs off, often in clusters greater than two, to commence ritual body painting. Akachi pulls Tina to their small hut while Newt is busy with one of the queen’s husbands, and she dresses Tina in a simple woven wrap that drapes around her waist to barely cover her sex...and nothing else.

Tina _balks_.

Akachi calms and reassures her as best she can, before irritatedly flinging aside the animal skins and pointing emphatically to the women milling about outside. They are all wearing similar garments, with the same amount of skin on display. Tina crosses her arms over her chest and rubs her elbows to mask her insecurity. Akachi softens and pulls her into a wonderfully maternal hug while clucking gently in her ear. _You’re with friends, Tina._

Tina sighs and relents as gracefully as she can, and the other woman beams while she braids her hair elaborately and drapes a heavy necklace around her neck. It’s thick with beads and bone and the weight comforts Tina. The width of the bauble just covers her nipples, granting her at least the illusion of being decent, and she fingers the decoration in relief as Akachi finishes preparing her with a heavy coating of scented oil on her forehead and hair, a ritualized anointment intended to help usher in rain and babies.

Newt shows up then, his own ritualized preparations completed, and all of Tina’s reservations evaporate.

He’s dressed in similar fashion, a single long cod-piece that preserves his modesty but leaves everything else on display. He’s blushing a furious scarlet when he first enters the hut but goes pale as he takes in Tina through wide eyes. Akachi trills with delight before squeezing Tina’s shoulders and kissing both their cheeks, but they are too in awe of each _other_ to really notice.

Tina’s tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth as she realizes that every one of Newt’s scars, freckles, beauty marks, moles, and dimples are on display. He has tanned and darkened under the African sun, and his skin and hair are bronze in the dappled light. His wide eyes shine gold, his scars glint silver. She can feel the heated weight of his gaze as he drinks in the sight of _her_ before he steps forward and she is fascinated all over again by the fine ligature of his muscles flexing beneath his skin.

Tina swallows, but her mouth remains as dry as the desert hard-pan. Newt blinks and gapes, mouth moving without sound, and she suspects he’s having similar issues.

“We won’t make it to the fire dance, at this rate,” he finally rasps, and it’s the tension breaker they need. Tina clings to him as they share laughter until Newt embraces her unashamedly, raining kisses on her cheek and jaw. His mouth moves lower to kiss the underside of her breast and Tina arches into the contact, kneading her fingers against his shoulders with a welcoming moan.

“Sexual contact before the ritual is _strongly_ discouraged,” he eventually gasps with clear regret, abandoning her skin to stumble back and take her hand. “You are absolutely stunning, Tina. I’m rather jealous that other men will get to see you like this, but delighted that you’ll be laying only with me tonight. I imagine they’ll feel a similar jealousy.”

Tina snorts. “Don’t sell yourself short, Newt. I’m sure you’ve noticed the way the women here look at you.”

He cocks his head, seeming genuinely confused, and Tina guffaws before waving it away. “Never mind. Just...take my word for it. They _do_ , alright?” She grins into his eyes and looks curiously at the small clay pots he’d brought with him, forgotten up until now. “Is that the stuff we’re supposed to use tonight?”

Newt blinks at the abrupt change of subject but he’s all business when he steps back and instructs her to sit on the ground opposite him, folding his legs neatly beneath him as he hands her two of the crude pots.

“Yes. There are two colors for each of us, and we’re to apply it to each other using equal amounts of both. Each couple or group are allowed their own designs, so long as they include some element of earth and water, to represent the harvest and life-giving rain. Yours are red and yellow: the sacred blood and the fruitful soil. Mine, white and blue: the seed and the rain that makes it grow.”

He takes a deep breath and scoops up some of the rough paint before meeting her eyes. “I was thinking of the runes for fertility if you know them,” he says in a near-whisper. “They also represent the elements and so should suffice to meet all requirements. Runes of unity and familial bonds wouldn’t be remiss either, I should think.”

Tina nods and nibbles her lips, already feeling the tingle of the ancient magic being invoked. “Whatever you think would work, Newt. I trust you.”

“That’s good,” he sighs, and she watches as he mouths something silently before placing his fingers on her.

He draws a straight brown line from her forehead to her nose and over her chin, before placing a red dot on either side just above her eyes. A series of brown and red lines are laid over her chest before her nipples get outlined in red and a number of runes get drawn over the globe of her breasts. He leaves her ribs mostly untouched in favor of focusing on her stomach, where fertility symbols are painted beneath and above her navel. Her skin tingles with his magic, and the last line seems to vibrate before sinking in. Tina gasps at the cool sensation and Newt drops her a wink.

“That means it’s working,” he assures her while wiping his hands clean. He passes her a pot and smiles gently. “My turn, I think. If you’d do the honors.”

Tina calls the magic to the fore of her mind, visualizing the symbols before setting to work. She paints his forehead and cheeks in a solid wall of blue before coating his chest with white. Atop the base, she scribbles a series of symbols, combining runes and the scriptures of her ancient culture in verse across his chest. Beneath his navel, a task made more difficult by the fine line of hair there, she paints the same symbols dotting her own center, and watches him shiver as the last bit of magic seeps in. Her voice is hoarse when she speaks.

“I can feel it,” she breathes, and it’s true. Each inhale tingles, every exhale seems to magnify the colors of the world around them. Newt is almost preternaturally beautiful in the lowering evening light, and he watches her as though she were _sacred_ to him. His hand floats out to cup her cheek and the contact is electric. They gasp in unison and sway into each other.

“You are a goddess,” he trembles. Then: “If it’s this intense now, what will tonight bring?”

“ _Hope_ ,” Tina responds without thinking and knows right away it’s the right thing to say. Possibly the only thing. She swallows and repeats herself while her husband blinks away tears. “Hope, and life, Newt. That’s what it will bring.”

“Yes, of course,” he murmurs and takes her hand to lead her to the fire.

*

Later, Tina would only be able to recall that night in fleeting snatches. When she thinks to ask Newt about it, he would blink in confusion before remembering essentially the same things: it wasn’t about what they _did_ , so much as the intensely focused power they invoked and _felt_ , both within the tribe but especially within each other.

They rendezvous with the rest of the tribe before splitting up: men on one side of the fire, the woman relegated to the other. The queen dances first, accompanied by a single drum to cavort as both the opening of the ritual and a tribal blessing. Wearing all four colors of paint, she is almost phantasmal as she moves sinuously about the flame before retreating with her men, not to be seen again until morning.

Larger, earth-shaking drums come out after she’s gone, accompanied by rattling sticks that seem to help the drummers maintain tempo and reedy woodwind instruments that give the rhythm its spine. Tina frets at first that she doesn't _know_ this dance, but needn’t have worried: it’s as natural as the earth, and she finishes the ritual wrung out and panting, with a heat in her lower belly that has _nothing at all_ to do with the blazing pyre, and a hunger that food cannot touch.

She marvels at the sheen of sweat on her skin, the way her ribs expand with each drawn breath, reveling in the primal feeling of being wholly _alive_. Across the way, Newt’s eyes are riveted to her, preternaturally dark and as keenly focused as an apex predator. Tina shivers in delight and anticipation, and the focused heat in her belly spreads to her chest and thighs.

The men come next, and Tina watches her reticent, awkward husband move without inhibition, all fluid grace, and compact, lithe muscle as he revolves around the flames to pull her into his orbit. She notes with satisfaction that they are not the first couple to steal away—that honor goes to Akachi, who snatches her man from the dance and tangles around him as they disappear into the night. Another woman goes, and then another until the heat and tension in Tina’s stomach snaps—and her inner thighs are slick when she crosses over to her husband and _claims_ him.

They wrap around each other in a bruising kiss and stumble away from the pyre, the tribe, and into the dark. Newt growls something that could be her name or could be a prayer into her mouth, and his hands are on her waist when she impacts the side of a Baobab tree, hard enough to force the air from her lungs in a low groan. It doesn’t slow her lips, however, and he accepts her breath before returning it to her in a throaty _growl_.

His fingers pluck at the ties holding her wrap on until it falls to the ground, until Tina is gloriously, wantonly naked beneath the stars, and Newt steps back long enough to admire the way her skin glows in the light of the full moon, bisected with darker lines of paint before pressing close. It’s only a matter of pushing his own cloth aside to free his length, and he hisses between his teeth when Tina’s clever fingers wrap around him with a low moan. One of her legs hooks around his waist as his fingers brush against her, only to discover that she is slick and ready for him. He teases her for a few moments, rendered breathless and nearly incoherent with want until she pleads his name into the fragrant night. Then it’s only a matter of lining up and _thrusting_ to bury himself to the hilt, hissing when he’s engulfed by her heat.

Tina yowls like a large cat when he slides home, before voicing a low, sibilant hiss and coming alive against him. Her fingernails bite into his skin hard enough to draw blood as she arches and bares her teeth, her leg at his waist pulling him in and encouraging him to move. Newt plants one hand against the trunk of the tree while the other grips her hip for leverage, and a powerful surge of earth magic pulses through them as they find their rhythm, establishing a pleasurable feedback loop—Newt thrusting into her, Tina meeting him halfway with pants and sighs and moans, and the tree absorbing the impact.

Newt cries out when Tina yanks his head back to sink her teeth into his neck, quivering around him in release. She collapses against the tree with a ragged gasp and he slows their near-frantic pace without warning, leaning in to kiss her deeply. She drags her nails down his back and he shivers before wrapping her other leg around him, taking part of her weight with his strong back and thighs while the tree supports the rest. She rocks her head back with a low groan and clutches his shoulders, her cheek pressed into his smooth jaw.

Newt growls a warning and Tina purrs in his ear and nibbles his earlobe, the runes painted on her stomach heating up almost painfully when they brush against those decorating his. She mewls in reaction and he's taken with sudden  _fire_ —he snaps his hips into her hard enough to bruise before snarling, pressed deep when he spasms and goes still.

The silence is incredibly loud as they recover, panting and leaning together drunkenly. Distantly, they hear the snap of the fire. Beyond that, the sounds of other couples engaged in sensual activities. Here, alone and in the dark, Newt traces the sweat on her skin to smear the now-inert paint, and Tina reciprocates until nothing is recognizable and they are just colorless blurred shapes.

Newt helps her down and they straighten their sparse clothing as best they can before creeping to the hut, where they collapse onto the straw mat without fanfare and sleep claims them immediately.

*

Tina wakes before Newt, and watches him lovingly before rolling onto her back to drag her fingers across her lower stomach. She notices right away that the symbols are no longer recognizable. The manic, hazy thrum of power that had inspired them last night seems almost dream-like, here in the stark light of morning, and Tina has to question whether it all really happened. A quick glance down at herself, scattered with hand-shaped bruises, thighs rubbed sore and wearing next to nothing, serves only to confirm the reality of the events.

Still. _Still_.

“Do you think it worked?”

Tina turns her head with a gasp, to be greeted by half-lidded, sleepy green eyes. “Sorry,” Newt murmurs with a heart-stopping smile and leans in to brush his mouth over hers. “I thought you realized I was awake.”

“It’s okay,” she answers shakily, and accepts his apologetic kiss. Then, “Do I think _what_ worked?”

Newt rolls onto his side, jaw propped on his fist to watch her face while the other drifts to her stomach. “Sex and magic, Tina. Do you think we managed to make a baby last night?”

A shiver trails up her spine, causing her skin to hump into goose-flesh. She twists into it before shrugging slightly. A small, hopeful smile graces her lips, and Newt responds to it with one of his own. “I don’t know,” she answers honestly, “but I sure hope we did. Time will tell, I suppose.”

Newt seems to give this some consideration before laying his head on her chest. He covers her heart with his hand and kisses the soft skin of her sternum, a small smile playing about his lips. “There’s always hope, Tina.”

Tina grins, petting his hair and sighing deeply. “You’re right, of course.”

*

They’re back on a boat four days later.

Newt comes up to rest his chin on her shoulder as the shores of Africa grow faint. The sea is calm and the sun is bright when Tina turns her face towards the sky. Her husband sighs and wraps around her from behind, pressing a kiss to her temple before gazing out over the water.

“Will you miss it?” he asks softly. Tina considers her answer for a moment.

“I’ll miss Akachi,” she finally decides, and then grins. “And those drums were incredible! But...I won’t miss the heat. Or the dust.”

Newt smiles and moves to her side, threading their fingers together. “We’re heading back to winter in London, which guarantees drizzle. I think, in time, you _will_ miss the heat.”

“You’re probably right,” Tina admits, and then laughs. “But we can go back whenever we want, can’t we?”

“Yes.” The answer is instantaneous, and she loves him more in that moment than she ever has before.

“Good,” she sighs and sways against him for a kiss. They part with a shared smile, foreheads tipped together. “Now. Let’s go eat if you’re feeling up to it.”

“I feel fine,” he declares, and she can tell he means it. Newt takes her hand and leads the way, but not before nuzzling into her neck. “I love you,” he reminds her, and his eyes are as gray as the rain at sea.

“That’s very convenient,” she whispers. “But what does that have to do with food?”

Newt laughs, a rich, full-bodied sound, and squeezes her fingers. “Nothing, I suppose,” he admits, and her laughter joins his as he leads her below deck.

*

**Author's Note:**

> To say that I've taken liberties with this particular magical tribe would be an _epic_ understatement. I've done what I can to keep actually African tribalism in check, but I had to extrapolate a _whole lot_ to get this to work. No disrespect is intended, and I hope I haven't been too heavy-handed with my spin on things.
> 
> Not a whole lot of smut in this one guys, sorry. :/ This was simply how it _wanted_ to be written, though I would have rather taken it down another path. Oh well--such is life when you are a slave to the muse.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Diggy and Kemara for beta-reading, advice, encouragement, and putting up with my puling. Want to see your idea made reality? Find me on Tumblr [@katiehavok](http://katiehavok.tumblr.com/), if that's your thing.


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